


A Spooky Cemetery (Sam/Dean, R, 1/?)

by buttsnax



Series: Supernatural Ghosts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Slash, Wincest - Freeform, agm-114 hellfire air-to-surface missiles, apache, boeing ah-64, cockpit, m/m - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:59:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttsnax/pseuds/buttsnax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean Winchester were in a cemetery looking for supernatural ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Spooky Cemetery (Sam/Dean, R, 1/?)

Sam and Dean Winchester were in a cemetery looking for supernatural ghosts. “Look,” said Sam, pointing at a tombstone. “A ghost!”  
  
Dean shone his light on it. It was a tombstone.  
  
“No,” said Dean to his brother. “That’s a tombstone.”  
  
He looked critically at Sam. What the hell was wrong with that dude?  
  
“Sorry,” said Sam.  
  
“Maybe _that’s_ a ghost,” Dean said, pointing at a ghost that just showed up.  
  
“Boo,” said the ghost.  
  
The ghost was a young woman and was floating above the ground. She was pale, and slightly translucent.  
  
 _She’s kinda hot for a dead girl_ , thought Dean.  
  
 _Ahhhhhhhh holy shit it’s a ghost_ , thought Sam, but he didn’t say that because he was a supernatural ghost hunter and if he yelled every time he saw a ghost he’d never get shit done.  
  
“Oh, hi,” said the ghost. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She floated around idly through a tombstone, but didn’t seem to notice. “It kinda sucks being dead,” she said, pouting.  
  
“Oh,” said Dean. “That sucks.”  
  
“No!” hissed Sam angrily in Dean’s ear. “Don’t trust her words, Dean! She’s an undead temptress, come to rip the flesh from our bones with her ghost teeth!”  
  
“I can hear you,” said the ghost. “Also, not cool.”  
  
But it was too late--Dean was already a majestic moose, roaming the arctic tundra. His hooves granted him purchase on the slippery frosted ground as he galloped over the large frosty rocks and the occasional dense scrub brush that flourished there. He dimly recalled a past life, but he did not care; he was free now. Whether this was because of sorcerous trickery from the foul magicks of the underworld or because moose have poor memories and relatively little ambition, he would never know.  
  
He saw a fox darting out of a rock hollow, watching him warily. He noted it, but it presented no threat to him. He slowed his gallop to a walk as he came upon a patch of tender grass poking up from the icy ground cover. His massive hoof crushed the hoarfrost and exposed the tender shoots. _Yes_ , thought his easily satisfied moose brain. _I will eat this and it will please me._ But he never got the chance.  
  
“Wake up!” shouted Sam into Dean’s face. Dean woke up.  
  
“What the hell was that?” asked Dean, perplexed.  
  
“I don’t know, man,” replied Sam. “You were out of it ... far away. And you got really cold.”  
  
“I never got to eat that grass ...” muttered Dean, his eyes taking on a glassy look.  
  
Sam shook him again.  
  
“No, Dean! No grass! We don’t have time to eat grass! Also, this is, like, gross graveyard grass. You don’t want to eat this.”  
  
Dean looked down. The grass was pretty gross. He didn’t want to eat it.  
  
“Thanks bro,” he said, holding on to his brother’s hand. “I was almost a moose forever. But you saved me.”  
  
“Of course,” said Sam. “I love you, man.” Sam pulled Dean closer.  
  
“Let’s do things to each other,” said Sam to his brother. “Weird sex things.”  
  
“Okay,” said Dean.  
  
“Ew,” said the ghost, disappearing with a wet ‘plop’ sound.  
  
“Man, what a bitch,” said Dean.  
  
“Yeah,” said Sam. “Lets do gay things now.”  
  
There was another ‘plop’ sound and the ghost was back.  
  
“Also,” she said, “it’s not a graveyard. It’s a cemetery. It can’t be a graveyard unless it’s attached to a church.” She crossed her ghost arms. “You guys are like the worst ghost hunters ever.”  
  
“Shut up! No one cares!” yelled Sam, waving his arms. Ghosts hate that. “Go back to hell, you cockblocking slut specter!”  
  
The ghost rolled her eyes and disappeared again.  
  
“Now,” said Sam, turning back to Dean. “Where were we ...”  
  
But Sam’s brother had changed, this time to a Boeing AH-64 ‘Apache’ attack helicopter. His 5.5 ton bulk hovered over the cemetery, his powerful 48-foot diameter rotors forming the center of a thundering cyclone of wind and debris. The sudden vortex threw leaves and twigs into the air. A tombstone creaked and fell over.  
  
“WHAT THE HELL?!” Sam tried to yell, but no one could hear him over the roar of the helicopter’s twin General Electric T700-GE-701 engines. Not seeing any other options, Sam climbed in the cockpit (which is sorta like what he was planning to do anyway, but different in some subtle and important ways). Dean immediately rose into the air, his 4-bladed rotor spinning up, and showcased the AH-64’s impressive 2,500 feet-per-minute rate of climb. Sam was pretty confused at first, but then he saw the 30mm M230 chain gun, and grinned. “Oh hell yeah,” he said, and opened fire.  
  
Tombstones cracked and shattered and a line of fire and smoke snaked its way across the graveyard. Sam focused fire on a large mausoleum, and it shattered after only a few seconds of the sustained barrage, probably seriously pissing off a lich or a werewolf or something. “Fuck you, ghosts!” Sam screamed, laughing, as his fully automatic chaingun disrupted the ghosts' natural habitat. Sam really hated ghosts.  
  
He was having so much fun he was taken by surprise when the M240’s 1,200-round count evaporated and ran dry. With a 625 round-per-minute rate of fire and only a 0.2 second spin up, that was bound to happen, Sam thought, remembering his helicopter statistics from high school.  
  
The ground began to rumble and crack open, and a hellish orange light peered out. “Shit,” said Sam, wishing he hadn’t wasted all his ammo on the tombstones. Angry ghosts were pouring out of the crack with eerie ‘whooosh’ noises. Sam frantically scrambled around the cockpit looking for more weapon controls, while Dean repositioned himself a couple hundred meters back. There were a lot of ghosts now.  
  
“Well shit, “ said Sam. “I don’t know what to do.” But Dean did--he pivoted quickly and launched four AGM-114 Hellfire Air-to-Surface missiles in quick succession.  
  
“Oh right,” said Sam. “I forgot about those.” Two of them impacted the edges of the crack, and it began to crumble. The shockwave rocked the Apache helicopter, but it remained stable. The ghosts nearby, however, were less fortunate, and were vaporized. Ghosts hate missiles.  
  
The remaining two missiles flew deeper into the crack and vanished for a second before their thunderous explosion shot a spout of ectoplasm and fire into the sky. The crack collapsed back in on itself. Little was left of the cemetery but a smoldering crater of shattered headstones and slimy dead ghost bits.  
  
“Yeah!” said Sam, pumping his fist in the air.  
  
“Yeah!” said the angel dude, Castiel, who showed up next to Sam in the cockpit.  
  
“Good job, boys,” Castiel said. “Your missiles killed hell.”  
  
They high-fived and flew back home.


End file.
